


i'll give you everything i have in my hand

by magpies



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Richie Tozier, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Stanley Uris is So Done, he/they richie tozier is something that can be so personal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29427903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magpies/pseuds/magpies
Summary: Another round of laughter surrounds the audience, but it can barely be heard over the rush in Eddie’s ears.So, his world may have tilted on its axis the minute Richie’s mouth said the words “in love” and “high school,” but he thinks he’s keeping it together, all things considered.He’s half listening to Richie speak, really trying for it, but this new information seems to have kicked his brain into overdrive. He has a crush on one of them? He has a crush on a Loser who’s married?One of them. Married.Richie is in love withStanley fucking Uris?(based off the tweet "richie makes a single joke in his set about being in love with a childhood friend whose married and eddie flips out because he thinks it’s stan”)
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 18
Kudos: 182





	i'll give you everything i have in my hand

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this'll be the first fic i've ever published, and it only took about 10 years of being in fandom spaces and feeling compelled enough by the Losers club to finally use this account for more than bookmarks. who would've thought.
> 
> SUPER BIG SHOUTOUT to my best friend, beta (basically co-writer but they're modest), and Endurer Of My Bullshit [sleepcities](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepcities). i love you so much and i know you know this but just so we're clear i really do.
> 
> fic based on [this tweet!](https://twitter.com/loser_rights/status/1343269764827918336)
> 
> really hoping i did the tweet and characters justice lol enjoy!

“Ladies and gentleman, please welcome: _Richie Tozier!_ ”

The audience’s cheers are almost deafening to Eddie as he sees Richie make his way onto the stage, and if it jars him a little, that’s no one’s business but his. He’s still not entirely used to the knowledge that Richie is a famous comedian, even as he’s sat smack in the middle of the Orpheum Theatre with the rest of the Losers, and Patty. They had all flown (or in Bill and Eddie’s case, driven) in to see the last show of Richie’s tour, what with most of them being unable to attend the opening night. They were now all congregated as close to the front as possible without the discomfort of the first row.

Eddie has been… _aware_ of his friend’s standups from before recovering his childhood memories, seeing the acts in bursts when clips would pop up in his Youtube recommendations, filled with crude humor and the Resident Asshole™ persona. (The trademark is apparently important, according to Richie.)

He never particularly liked the content, low-grade Barstool humor that Myra would sneer at when the subject was somehow mentioned, and Eddie had been inclined to agree. Even Richie could do better than what his ghostwriters spoon fed him. Richie, at least, also seemed to be in agreement in that sense, as he then pursued what the general public saw as a drastic turn of his image and reputation, almost immediately after their reunion in Derry.

They publicly came out, first as gay, then months later as nonbinary (in a casual thread of tweets involving a Q&A with fans, no less, leading to a collective session of research led by none other than Stan and Patty in understanding what it meant.) They appeared in some interviews discussing their desire to be more authentic to themself, and took a year long break from standup to fire their old writers and work on enough of their own material to workshop in smaller comedy clubs before getting back on stage. The shift felt sudden, but for Richie, it was a long time coming.

And now, he’s somehow gone even further than anyone, much less Richie himself, could have expected. Brand deals, offers for movie roles, and the two and a half months long tour that’s reaching its end, bringing him back to his home territory in LA. They were making waves for themself, all from the feeling that living their old life was no longer an option.

Eddie, at least, can empathize with this, having not only divorced his wife while becoming honest about his formerly repressed sexuality, but packing up and moving to California himself, after an off-handed suggestion made by Richie that he was surprised to see Eddie follow through on. He can also, begrudgingly, understand where that comes from; he hasn’t given the impression of someone who would purposely veer off his straight and narrow life path so easily. But he, too, knew _something_ needed to change, and New York soon became all the reminders of a life he ran on autopilot.

Eddie realizes with bemusement that thinking about this minutes before Richie’s act might be a bit much, especially during a time when he should be having some fun, watching his closest friend perform. He internally shakes himself out of it and focuses on Richie, who has already started speaking.

-

“So, uh, my best friends from my hometown are here tonight.”

The audience breaks into a clapping, cheering mess around him. Everyone loves a childhood friendship, Eddie guesses.

“Hiii,” he says, over the noise, “hi, what’s up, Losers—no, no, I swear to god, I’m not actually insulting them, we really used to call ourselves that.” He holds his hands up as if to prove he isn’t on the offense. “Well, okay, it’s more like the upperclassmen called us that and it stuck, but, you know, eh.”

There’s a short burst of laughter that quiets down as he goes to speak.

“Really though, thank you guys for coming tonight, I’m glad everyone was able to make it.” They look over to where the Losers are seated, a comfortable amount of rows away, and Eddie smiles in their direction. He’s pretty sure Bill shouts something up at Richie, but the audience has gotten loud again, so he’s doubtful it was heard.

Richie, still on stage, clears their throat, gestures to the row the Losers are crammed into. “I love these idiots. We were teenagers in a small town in Maine in the 80’s, so our free time consisted of things like reading comic books, smuggling R-rated rentals from the video store, and exploring condemned buildings with, oh, you know, the _literal_ threat of getting murdered.” More scattered laughter, and some noises of sympathy, or groans of fond exasperation, as Eddie could hear in his row.

(Derry’s gory history came to light in the time that Richie had opened up about his childhood and his seemingly random connection to Bill and Bev, lending itself to his coming out and the sudden turnaround post-reunion. Knowing it was no longer a secret they kept tucked away from prying eyes was somehow both relieving and unnerving to the group.

Eddie, in some strange way, couldn’t help but have a personal satisfaction in knowing that the real truth of what bonds them together will never be infiltrated in that same manner, but being able to discuss it must be cathartic for someone like Richie, whose life has reached the public eye.)

“Yeah, it sucked sometimes, but the trauma’s what got me here today! Everyone’s been a horny, repressed teenager, but not many people have had the worry of a child killer as a garnish. That’s a goldmine of jokes for me, the village idiot. And speaking of repressed!” It seems like he’s getting into the rhythm of his routine, starting to pace and circle around the stage to burn some of the excess energy.

“Not only did I have to deal with avoiding the horrific ordeal of being perceived, bullied, or hunted for sport, I had to do it with a bunch of gangly, snot-nosed nerds who all still managed to be annoying levels of attractive to teenage me. Little Richie—no, I know what you're thinking, that's too obvious—had a shitload of love and other complicated emotions that came with being friends with some of the most amazing people he’d ever met, and it was _disgusting_. And, of course, because my life is a comedy, they all end up being supermodel hot, while I have a horde of raccoons in my neighborhood that have mistaken me for their leader. But that might be ‘cause I leave ‘em scraps in the driveway so they don't demolish my trash cans.” That brings out some more unrestrained laughter in the audience, and Richie pauses to chuckle a bit himself. Eddie can’t help the pang of fondness he feels.

"And, like, while I'm sure this comes off as no surprise, I've been in love with one of these assholes since _high school_."

And that. Eddie isn’t expecting _that_. Especially not- was that present tense?

The audience has a scattered applause paired with laughter, a few supportive whoops making its way through. Richie continues: “No, no, it gets worse. This fucker had the nerve to get _married_! Can you believe this shit? The _audacity_! Hitched before I even had the chance to process a gay crisis from seeing him again! I mean, I did get to have the gay crisis, in the end, but doing that under threat of death just seems like a copout.”

 _Been in love with._ Richie has _been in love with_ one of them. Present perfect, Eddie recalls from some godforsaken English class, implies that the action is _still happening._

Richie is in love with one of the Losers.

“Anyway, now that that ship has sailed, since prepubescent pining and ‘practice kissing’ for your crush isn’t actually the promise of marriage, I’ve realized how dire the dating scene looks for schlubby gays in their 40’s. I have it on good authority that I could be labeled as a bear, technically, and I’ve made good on that information-” he pauses to waggle his eyebrows, “but part of my midlife crisis doesn’t actually involve shacking up with a hot blonde half my age. So, the most intimate experience I’ve had for a little bit is awkward hard-ons during the Sense8 orgy scenes.”

Another round of laughter surrounds the audience, but it can barely be heard over the rush in Eddie’s ears.

So, his world may have tilted on its axis the minute Richie’s mouth said the words “in love” and “high school,” but he thinks he’s keeping it together, all things considered.

He’s half listening to Richie speak, really trying for it, but this new information seems to have kicked his brain into overdrive. He has a crush on one of them? He has a crush on a Loser who’s married?

One of them. Married.

Richie is in love with **_Stanley fucking Uris?_**

In that moment, Eddie’s overcome with a series of conflicting emotions. Jealousy, disbelief, and, for an increment of a second, when he lets himself forget that he’s already come to a conclusion, a flicker of hope. He stamps it down in his head like a branch that’s caught fire. Most of all, he feels an overwhelming surprise over how he didn’t notice it.

Not that he could be blamed, he rationalizes. He’s been dealing with the fallout of his divorce, the slow but, thankfully, basically full recovery of being fucking _impaled_ , and the crashing waves that has been confronting his sexuality. Those usually resulted in nights spent in either enjoyable, but casual affairs ( _hookups,_ more accurately, but he’s not 20) with decently attractive looking men, or with generous amounts of red wine and movie marathons of all and any LGBT cinema he could get his hands on.

(While he confidently understands he is by no means a lesbian woman, or even a man with more than a passive appreciation of women, the particular romantic and sexual tension present in The Handmaiden was...enlightening.)

Regardless, this now feels like something he’s going to have to painstakingly pick apart to get to the bottom of. Because leave it to Richie Tozier to drop a fucking bomb like this, in a way that lets all of them know that this is their way of saying _I wanted it out there, but_ please _don’t ask._ This is the pronoun situation all over again.

Well. He knows there’s no use in worrying about it for now, and brings his focus back to Richie’s act.

-

They make their way towards the backstage area, all seven of them herded like sheep in the bustle of the busy crowd, right before Eddie can feel more than a little claustrophobic about it. He’s not fond of large crowds, but it wasn’t as chaotic as a standing concert, or a busy movie theater.

He’s not really paying attention to the conversations going on within the group while they wait for Richie, but he tunes in when he hears Bill mentioning him.

“So we should probably...talk about that right? Did anyone know they were going to say that bit about the crush? I know we couldn’t m-make the other shows, but...I feel like that’d have gotten, uh, mentioned somewhere?” he asks, his stutter making its way through in moments when he’s nervous or flustered.

Bev snorts derisively. “I don’t think they did it before us, since we were in the crowd. And honestly, knowing Richie’s track record? That’s as close as we’re getting to knowing about it.”

Wait a second. Bill and Bev are talking about…the _situation_ as though it isn’t obvious, as though they don’t know what’s going on as well as Eddie does, as though Richie could have been talking about any—

It’s about here that Eddie realizes that Stan is not the only Loser to have been married before Richie was out.

His brain short-circuits, just a little, and his heart follows it.

Ben makes a hum of acknowledgment, eyes soft and considerate. “Maybe we shouldn’t push it?” he asks.

Eddie really wants to push it.

He can see Mike starting to nod, before forming a look of concern. “He said he’s _been_ in love, though. That might mean currently? Is that something they’ve mentioned to anyone?” He looks around for confirmation, but no one seems to know any more than the other. Except…

Eddie glares over at Stan. Maybe his brain is still boiling a little bit with his initial assumption and the rising static of this new revelation, because he says, “What do you know, Uris?” before he can think about it, in a tone that might be a tad too forceful, and all eyes turn to Eddie for a brief second before they focus on Stan. He looks mildly amused, but mostly like he’s found an answer to an age-long question. Patty stands next to him, with a soft smile that matches her husband’s.

He makes a look of consideration. “I have no idea what you mean,” he answers, infuriatingly succinct. Patty’s smile grows wider. Eddie feels the metaphorical hackles raise.

“So I’m calling bullshit,” Bev cuts in first, and points at Patty. “I’m trusting you as the impartial party here. What do you know, Patty dear?” she asks, saccharine and playfully flirty, the way she always is with women in particular.

To the untrained eye, Patty’s smile hasn’t budged, but the Losers have been in her presence enough at this point to recognize the mischievous lilt it takes on. Eddie grows suspicious.

“I just think it’s sweet. I can tell you all care a lot, and I’m sure Richie will let you know in time. Besides,” she takes a pause here, glancing at their faces before tilting her head down to look at her husband, where her braids lightly brush his shoulder. “Stanley isn’t known to kiss and tell.”

The silence lasts an agonizing beat, if anyone asks Eddie.

Unsurprisingly, chaos erupts soon after. They’re trying to talk over the other, Eddie’s hysterical burst of _What the_ fuck _does_ that _mean_ \- almost drowned out by the others’ voices, reaching high school cafeteria levels of rowdiness that could almost be impressive.

Before anything can come out of that, however, a voice, clearer and louder in a way it’s accustomed to being, brings the whole debacle to a halt. “Oh, we’re in a _mood,_ " says Richie, as he approaches his friends. Eddie distantly recognizes it’s his Coco Peru impression, and notes that they’ve been spending a lot of time with each other. “Where’s the fire, folks?”

“We can’t figure out what you’d want to eat. Everyone keeps picking places _they_ like,” Bev responds without missing a beat, to avoid anyone coming up with an excuse that won’t raise suspicion. “I was reminding them that it’s your pick.”

A few expressions flicker across Richie’s face, from mild surprise and affection to a look of contemplation and, finally, a horribly mischievous grin that takes up his entire face, one that Eddie knows all too well.

“How about Chine-” and the cacophony of arguments start up once more, most in favor of telling Richie to fuck off. Eddie somehow manages to notice Patty looking on in amusement, her vague understanding of everyone’s aversion for the food making the situation funny. He’s smiling before he can help it, which he hides by rubbing a hand over his face.

-

With the distraction of dinner and the jovial atmosphere over the success of Richie’s tour, Eddie is in fact able to put his worries aside for a bit, even as the thought sits in the back of his brain.

It doesn’t help that his Losers, stubborn in all the ways they are capable, sacrificed Bill as the one to try to breach the topic of the act, their brave, if bumbling, leader, despite knowing it would go nowhere. And, as expected, Richie managed to derail expertly and get them shots, knowing everything would be tabled and forgotten the moment alcohol was involved. They were a happy, laughing bunch, but also had pretty unforgiving circadian rhythms, so they decided to call it a night not too long after, content in knowing they’ll all see each other throughout the week anyway while they’re together in LA. Eddie was half conscious by the time he made it back to his apartment, painstakingly attempting to go through his nightly routine before crawling into his bed.

Now that the morning has breached, however, he can do little more than stew over his thoughts while nursing his coffee.

As it stands, whoever Richie was talking about is currently married ( _or has been married,_ his traitorous brain adds. He fiercely ignores it). Bev is out, on the basis of Richie having no attraction to women, and explicitly stating it was a _him_. Ben also gets crossed off, since he and Beverly have been involved in some sort of confusing dynamic following the spontaneous (but not entirely unexpected, as Beverly has told him) appearance of one Kay McCall. She’s stuck by Beverly’s side since the fallout of her divorce, which he knows she’s grateful for. So, neither of them have plans to marry each other or anyone else at this point in time.

Then there’s Mike, who at first he assumed was comfortable with his newfound travels and supposed perpetual bachelorhood, but he and Bill have also had a rather charged dynamic. There seems to be a lot of dancing around _something,_ especially in the last year, after Bill’s own divorce. Neither of them have said anything outright to him, but Eddie has eyes, and can take an educated guess.

It’s come back down to his first guess. Richie must be in love with Stanley _fucking_ Uris.

Begrudgingly, he has to admit it checks out, a _lot._ Stan was Richie’s friend before him and Bill joined in, two separate pairs coming together as four. He’s always complemented the other, the push and pull of Richie’s loud, crude demeanor met with Stan’s dry wit and straight-laced personality. They’re best friends, and all the Losers are, really, but Eddie gets how that dynamic might be something Richie craves. A stability of sorts. Someone to ground them.

He’s calling Stan’s number before he knows it.

“Good morning, Eddie. What can I do for you?” And, alright. Eddie’s first instinct is to get snappy and interrogate, but the fight goes out of him just from hearing Stan, sounding pleasant for the early morning. It wouldn’t do him any good, anyway, knowing how well the other can diffuse his hot temper. He can’t think of a single way to bring this topic up in a manner that won’t drop his feelings right into the hot seat, either, but he knows it’s the only method that’s going to get answers. He decides he’ll play it cool, and attempt a smooth segue into the topic.

“Were you Richie’s first kiss?”

_Way to prematurely give up the fucking ghost, Kaspbrak._

To both his horror and relief, Stan lets out a huff of amusement, and Eddie can almost hear the smirk on his face when he replies. “I had a feeling that’s what this was about. You do know we were teenagers, and that I’m married, right?”

Eddie closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Yes, Stan! That’s the problem! You’re married! And Richie said it was someone he kissed and who got married! Are you guys not seeing this? ‘Cause I feel like I’m going fucking insane!” The hand that does _not_ currently have a death grip on his phone moves in grand gestures now, despite the emptiness of the apartment. “Like, how are we supposed to help with this? This isn’t something I can-” _protect him from,_ he doesn’t finish, cutting himself off.

A killer alien clown, bullies, and hell, Richie’s own low sense of self-worth have been challenges, ones that Eddie’s stood up to again and again, willing to fight and snarl at like a wild animal for the sake of the one(s) he loves. It took a long while for him to even come to terms with those emotions, terrified of his mother’s influence on the love he holds for all of them, but with reassurance, he’s been able to acknowledge that he can want the best for someone without a smothering quality. But he never expected this, the inevitable pain caused by someone who _does _love Richie, through no fault of their own, simply because it’s not the _same_ love. He wouldn’t even know where to begin.__

Despite his silence, Stan seems to understand perfectly. “I get that you’re worried, Eddie, I do. But there are some things about this situation that aren’t my place to talk about, so I think you should mention this to Richie. Clear the air, or as close to that as you can get with them,” he responds, pragmatic as he’s always been. “And, while this may be hard to believe, you’re way off base,” he responds, a finality in his tone that’s present when he feels he’s on the winning side of a debate, and that throws Eddie for a loop. What does he know?

“I don’t really think it could _be_ anyone else, man. I mean, unless whoever he’s talking about isn’t married anymore, but even then- wait, you don’t think it’s _Bill,_ do you?”

The sigh Stan lets out expresses that he’s done with the conversation. “I’m done with this conversation. You need to talk to him, instead of going in circles. You’ll drive yourself crazy doing that for all the time Richie won’t mention it, and that’s going to be a _long time,_ if they have anything to say about it. Get it together, Kaspbrak.”

“Easy for you to say,” he mutters, only _slightly_ petulant.

They switch subjects shortly after that and figure out some of the group’s plans for the week, before saying their goodbyes. Eddie can’t say the conversation alleviated all of his worries, but if his main suspect seems sure he’s not the one Richie’s mooning over, he can work with that. He can go back to square one.

He just doesn’t know if he’ll be able to talk about this without pulling teeth. Whether he means his or Richie’s, he’s not quite sure.

-

“Spaghetti! It’s been so long!” Eddie hears Richie call out from the kitchen as he opens the door to the apartment. He’d been given a spare key for his place almost as soon as he landed in California to stay, as a way for Eddie to get in and out easily while he was in the moving process. Richie never asked for it back after the fact, though. Eddie didn’t offer, either.

“It’s been like, three days, dumbass,” he replies, and tries not to think about how he says it the same way he’d say _darling._ He’s hopeless.

“ _Three days_ without my Eds? That sounds like a big mistake on my part,” Richie simpered at him, and Eddie knows it’s their usual bullshit, teasing like always, but the blush that’s overtaken his face doesn’t seem to get the memo. He gives Richie a scoff in response and turns away from them to busy himself with something to do in the kitchen.

He’s been painstakingly going through all the possible methods he could use to bring Richie’s act up in conversation, but a good strategy has yet to appear. He tried to seek some more advice from Stan and Patty in the time they’d been spending together while the others had agreed to split off into smaller groups for separate day trips. (He has to admit he enjoys being in their presence and seeing the way they work as a unit, even if the only help he got out of either of them was to _talk_ to Richie, which he simply had to accept.) He hasn’t _dared_ mention this to anyone else either, even Bev, for fear of what can of worms that’d open. Secrets don’t stay secret long with any of them, so he’s been a little more cautious about keeping his woes on lockdown.

As he mindlessly rearranges the haphazard mess of Richie’s takeout-containers-turned-tupperware situation, he ruminates. What are the pros and cons of this conversation panning out? How will Eddie respond if his suspicions are right on who Richie has feelings for, and it is Stan? How will he respond when ( _or if,_ his brain chimes in, betraying him) it’s one of the other Losers, maybe one who _would_ be open to dating him? Would Mike and Bill be interested in a third? Would _Stan and Patty?_ He hadn’t even _considered_ -

“Whoa, whoa! _Eddie_! I can see you catastrophizing from here, man, what’s up?” Richie yanks him out of his spiraling thoughts, quite literally, as they grab Eddie by the shoulders and lead him to the nearest seat by the kitchen island. They’re looking at him with wide, concerned eyes. “You alright?”

Alright Kaspbrak, you can do this. Just...be cool about it.

“I think Bev has some resources about polyamory, if you need it.”

...Smooth.

Of course Richie’s looking at him now like he’s grown a second head, blindsided by that statement. “I... guess? I know she’s been in that weird will-they-won’t-they with Ben and her very intimidating lady friend who probably hates me, but. Is that what’s got you stressed? Did she say something? And, wait, why would _I_ need that? I’m not dating anyone.”

These are all very logical questions, and Eddie could absolutely brush it off as his filter going on the fritz over Bev’s confusing love (?) life, but. In for a penny.

“I just...wanted you to know, I guess. In case of, like. Anything, really,” he finishes off lamely, even more unsure of how to breach the topic now.

This, of course, does nothing for Richie’s confusion, and he even looks a little suspicious. “I’m not really picking up what you’re putting down, Eds. Are you _also_ in a weird romantic tango with one of your friends?”

 _Jesus. Maybe so._ “Not, I mean...no? No,” he says, not trying to give himself away so easily. “It’s just that you-! Okay, I was trying to bring it up a lot better than this. Richie,” he pauses here, trying to gather his courage, “you know you can talk to me about anything, right? Even if it’s whatever you’re feeling about...one of our friends,” he grinds out, trying not to sound too pained about it. He keeps his gaze firmly on the counter of the island, where his hand is trying not to hold onto the counter for dear life. He doesn’t think he’s playing the role of the supportive friend very well here, but at least he said it. So he’s caught only slightly off guard when Richie lets go of his shoulders and lets out a laugh with no amusement, with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Ah, I mean. Thanks, but no thanks. That’s not really something I can tell you about.”

Eddie tries to ignore the sting he feels on the emphasis of _you,_ but he feels himself getting defensive anyway. “Well, what the fuck does that mean? I came to you about the guys I would talk to. You came to _me_ about yours. What’s the difference?” he bites out.

And Richie’s eyes go _sad,_ which throws Eddie for another loop. “That’s so different. It doesn’t, like, _mean_ anything to me when I tell you about those guys, ‘cause I don’t wanna fucking marry ‘em or some shit. It’s casual, so it’s fun to talk about. I just- I _can't_ with this, it’s gonna fuck everything up.” He moves to rub his eyes under his glasses in a tired movement. “I’m not trying to fuck _anything_ up, Eds. It’s been so _good,_ this past year. I can just...deal with it, y’know?”

He wants to give reassurance, but all that comes out is: “Marry...you want to _marry_ him?”

Richie makes a fond, but resigned expression, and Eddie feels his heart breaking for them. “I don’t think that’s really ever been in the cards for me. With anyone, really.”

Now this, Eddie knows, is bullshit. “That’s bullshit,” he says. Richie doesn’t look convinced, but doesn’t say anything, which Eddie takes as his cue. “Rich, you’re a _catch,_ are you kidding me? You, you’re so loving! And loyal! You can cook and clean up after yourself and are a genuinely fun person to be around!” He pauses here to consider his next words, and thinks, _fuck it._ “Not to mention you’re built like a brick shithouse. On what _planet_ do you think people aren’t into that? And sure, maybe it’s not who you want it to be, but I think that if he had the chance to marry you and didn’t take you up on it, then he’d be missing out like an idiot. I mean, I don’t think his partner would be happy to hear me say that, but-”

“Wait, sorry, _partner_? When did this happen?” Richie cuts in to ask, looking distressed.

Eddie looks at him in confusion. “You said he was married, so his wife, right? Or ex-wife, I guess, if you meant Mike and Bill.”

Richie goggles at him. “Eddie, who do you think I’m talking about?”

“Who do _you_ think I’m talking about?” Eddie throws back, helplessly.

“I don’t fucking _know_ who you’re talking about, that’s why I’m asking!”

Eddie sighs impatiently. “I don’t fucking know either, then! But if he’s not married, then what the _fuck_ is the problem, Richard?” He registers a beat too late that he is the only currently (confirmed) single _and_ formerly married man in the group. Richie does not miss this fact, either, and grows visibly flustered.

“I didn’t...think it was on the table?” they reply, sounding uncharacteristically shy.

And Eddie is. His face feels as hot as a furnace, both from the humiliating task of having to spill his guts out onto his lap from where he’s seated, and the sheer rage at Richie’s bashful disbelief. It’s insane to him. He is _going_ to get this man some confidence. “Well, just so we’re clear, I really fucking like you, and it’s _all on the table,_ ” he parrots back, and grabs Richie’s garish shirt collar, pressing their lips together.

Richie's stiff against him for a handful of painful, nerve wracking seconds, and he wonders if somehow, he managed to misread the entire situation. But Richie melts into the kiss not long after, wrapping his arms around Eddie's waist and lifting him out of the chair and onto the kitchen island, an action that sends a shiver straight down his spine. They stay like that for a while, trading soft pecks back and forth that turn heavier, almost heady as they get their hands on each other. Eddie wraps his fingers in Richie's curls without pulling, and Richie sneaks their hands under Eddie’s shirt to hold onto his waist. He feels like he could stay this way forever, pleasantly overwhelmed by Richie not only in his size, but in his love, his tenderness.

It’s not much longer when they pull away, however, a reprieve from the intensity. Eddie’s chest heaves as he catches his breath, not like the panic that seizes his lungs and made him so dependent on cold plastic and saltwater for all those years, but like he’s just run a marathon and reached the finish line, victorious. Euphoric.

Richie’s the one to go in for a final kiss, before backing up a little to give them both space. They keep their hands on Eddie’s waist, though, to his delight. “Well. That was...I mean,” he starts, stumbling a little through his words. “I’m really glad I turned off the oven before I grabbed you from the tupper-warfare you almost incited.”

Eddie groans, loudly. “You _would_ make a terrible pun after making out. I’m not even surprised.”

“Aw, Eds, _making out._ Like we’re teenagers,” says Richie, and it should come off as teasing, but they look a little starstruck, and Eddie can’t help how much he loves it.

-

Later that evening, after another, escalated session of makeouts (a term which, unfortunately, does _also_ send a thrill through his system), Eddie, for what might be the first time in his life, waits patiently for Richie to get his words out, leaning against the counter, arms crossed defensively as the other is doubled over in laughter. He wonders if the floor would be willing to swallow him up at this moment, but shudders a little when met with the unpleasant memory of a caved in floor, and focuses back on him.

“I’m sorry, just- just give me a minute,” he manages to choke out, clearly no closer to finishing his round of hysterics. Thankfully, it’s not much longer until they taper off, seemingly the end of it, and he pushes a hand under his glasses to wipe at his eyes. “Okay, so I need you to run that by me again. You thought,” a restrained huff makes its way out of their mouth, followed by a short burst of, frankly, childish giggles. “You thought my crush was _Stan_? Stanley Uris?”

And Eddie, despite his embarrassment, can’t help the fondness that curls under his ribs as he sees the grin that takes up most of Richie’s face.

But that hasn’t stopped his argumentative streak before.

“Yeah, alright, I get it, it’s so fucking _hilarious_ that I thought the guy you were practically attached to the _hip_ with before you met me or Bill was your gay awakening. I’m so sorry for making what I thought was an educated guess, dipshit,” he starts up, trying to state his case to the one-man jury before him, puttering around the kitchen to retrieve the wine glasses they’d need.

That, unsurprisingly, gets another peal of laughter out of Richie, which, to their credit, they try to suppress before responding. “I met you like, right after, dude! I’ve been friends with you and Bill about as long as Stan!” A smile, not unlike that of the Cheshire cat, takes over Richie’s face at this point. “You can’t tell me the both of us weren’t a package deal. You’d buy me ice cream without even having to ask, obviously I was going to pop a heart boner over it.” They place a hand on their chest for emphasis.

Eddie’s face twists up in disgust. “First off, _dude,_ don’t ever say ‘heart boner’ to me again, you’re fucking disgusting. Second, you explicitly mentioned he was married! And one of your best friends! That’s more than half the group at this point! I really don’t think it was as obvious as you’re saying it is,” he huffs.

“Eddie _baby,_ ” Richie singsongs as he reaches to cradle his hands around Eddie’s face, pointedly ignoring his half-hearted complaints, the two glasses long forgotten.

And, well. Eddie really does want to keep the momentum going on this, but. Hands. Big. Warm.

“He _was_ your first kiss, though,” he mumbles out, obscured by his cheeks being slightly smushed. If he sounds petulant about it, he’ll take it to his fucking grave, thank you very much.

Richie sees right through him, though, and he’s met with another, albeit softer, laugh. “We were like, fourteen. I was scared shitless about wanting to kiss you and even more so about dying a virgin. Not that it changed anything in that department...unless?” They waggle their eyebrows at Eddie, and this time, he can’t bring himself to do anything but laugh, amused by the other’s antics.

Richie’s eyes soften, content with the response. “I know it’s kind of pathetic, but it was always for you. I was kinda crazy about you.” He strokes his thumbs across Eddie’s cheekbones, tracing down to touch his dimples, which were currently making an appearance. In that moment, Eddie relates greatly to a cat, stretched out and basking in the rays of the sun. Though he’d, embarrassingly, argue that the sun itself would never shine quite like a smile from Richie, or know its warmth. Not in its direction, and certainly not on its lips, unlike his own when he reaches out to close the gap between them once again.

It’s all fine then, even if he wasn’t the first. He can always look forward to being the last.

**Author's Note:**

> title from "Give Me Back My Man" by The B-52's!


End file.
